Demons of the Past
by Ally3
Summary: The explorers return to London just before the holidays, but Marguerite's past intrudes on Roxton's plans for the future. Mostly M&R. Enjoy!


Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me nor will I ever make any money from them. This story is completely made up for the enjoyment of all TLW fans. 

Happy Christmas!

****

Demons of the Past

Written by Ally

December 3, 1924

Marguerite Krux peered over the railing of the ship and focused below on the large gathering crowd. By this time most of London knew of their triumphant return, placing them all in exactly what she feared- the limelight. As the wealthy heiress that funded the expedition, she recognized that her role would be minimal, but she still feared that past demons would notice her return. She dreaded that they could try to reemerge in her life that currently seemed so settled. Four years prior the small group had left London on behalf of the London Zoological Society. Now after finding a hidden passage behind a dried waterfall, the band of explorers returned bringing stories from this lost world to society at large.

To her surprise a warm pair of muscular arms wove their way onto either side of her and gripped the railing. A soft, yet husky voice echoed in her ear, "You know, a frown won't be becoming on a photograph, Miss Krux." His teasing caused a small smirk to creep across her face as his mouth found the nape of her neck and gently pressed a heated kiss against her chilled skin. Then his voice turned serious as he rested his head on her shoulder and looked over at the large group below. "What are you worried about?"

"Nothing, John, " she replied, knowing full well that the worry in his voice would not disappear easily. In the two years that they had been embroidered in their relationship, Marguerite Krux and John Roxton had become more emotionally involved than either had intended. Marguerite realized that the road ahead would be marred by her past, but she had never fully expressed her concern to John or any of the others.

"I know you, Marguerite. Your brow does not get that furrowed unless something serious is bothering you. What is it?"

"Just camera shy I guess. I look horrid, and this is the first glimpse that London will see." _At least I am being somewhat truthful, _she thought. She knew there was more to it than vanity, but alerting him to her fears would only increase his tension. He was already extremely nervous due to seeing his mother, and she knew that at this moment he did not need any more problems added to his plate. 

"You look fabulous to me, and my opinion is the only one that counts. Unless, of course, there is some past love that I don't know about waiting below," he inquired with a joking grin. 

"What are you two doing up here?" asked Veronica emerging in a long, black overcoat and clothes she borrowed from Marguerite to substitute for her usual revealing attire. The girl brought up in the jungle agreed to return to London under the condition that she and George Edward Challenger, the group's wayward leader, mount a return expedition within the upcoming year. The heiress knew there was more to Veronica's journey, though. Ned Malone, who was the final member of the group, had captured her heart long ago. She was sure the jungle princess traveled with them in fear of loosing him. 

"Just noticing the crowd," Roxton replied as the brunette that he had grown to deeply care about shifted nervously in his arms. He realized there was much more going on in her head than she was willing to share, but he also acknowledged that at times she needed to withdraw. Then, he noticed Veronica's face grow ashen as she looked at the hoards of people below. Trying to calm her by placing a hand on her shoulder, he stated, "None of us will allow any harm to come to you." He had grown quite attached to the young lady in their time on the plateau, and he felt responsible for making sure she adjusted well.

"Veronica, you will be staying with me at a hotel." Marguerite interrupted, "I registered under a false name to insure our privacy. I promise, as soon as my assistant arrives, we will leave. No one will have the opportunity to probe you for answers until you are ready to speak." Roxton stood amazed by this woman's uncharacteristic thoughtfulness and generosity. Now he knew she was running from something- he just didn't know what.

Half an hour later the five emerged from the ship to be greeted by a cheering audience of press, friends, and family. Roxton followed Marguerite closely watching her every move as she stepped off the ramp and moved cautiously out of the way of the photographers clamoring for a picture of George and Ned. As soon as he set foot on solid ground his gaze scanned the crowd for a glimpse of his mother. It took several moments, but she came into view just to the right of the ramp. He instantly hurried to her side grasping her hands as tears filled both of their eyes. He had missed home, and now as he embraced her narrow, fragile frame memories flooded his mind. He pulled away and kissed her tear stained cheek, all words eluding him at the moment.

Marguerite watched from the side of the ramp. Lady Elizabeth Roxton wore a simple blue suit with her silver-gray hair pinned elegantly in a low bun. Smaller than Marguerite imagined, Roxton's mother only measured to his shoulder, but strength radiated from her otherwise frail form. Her gaze shifted then to George and Ned as they were pulled into the circle of press. Veronica held back, cautiously trying to remain unnoticed. Marguerite stepped forward and clasped her hand in an effort to comfort her. Their eyes met and Marguerite recognized the fear that this unknown situation caused. "My car will be here soon." She glanced across the crowd, scanning the people for the familiar face of Grace, the young Irish girl she had taken in as an assistant seven years prior. 

They had all telegraphed the necessary contacts when they were on the boat. Grace was the only person that Marguerite knew she could count on. The young girl had been an orphan, and Marguerite had taken her on as an assistant to insure that she always had a connection in London. Most of the time Grace took care of the apartment that she kept in the city, but on occasion she had been a traveling companion as well. She had not been sure that Grace would still be in London when she telegraphed. Their four-year absence led many to believe that they had died long before. Marguerite was thrilled when she received word that the young woman would meet her at the dock.

Suddenly, Roxton arrived at her side, "I want you to meet someone."

"John, I'm not sure…"

"Marguerite, she will love you. Don't worry," he responded, pulling her resistant body through the mass toward his mother. 

"Mum, this is Miss Marguerite Krux."

"Hello, my dear," Lady Roxton smiled as she gently took the heiress's hand. "You are quite lovely. John, your telegraph did not lie."

At this remark Marguerite grinned, trying to hide the shock that resonated through her body. _What else had he telegraphed his mother?_ "Thank you. John often spoke of you and the wonderful childhood he had here in England," she replied quietly.

"Miss Krux, you must join us for tea tomorrow. I would like to hear about your adventure and learn all of the details that my son will refuse to disclose."

"I'm not sure…" the heiress stuttered, searching for an excuse.

"Marguerite, you cannot refuse," Roxton interrupted. "She's as stubborn as I am, and I'm quite sure she'll not take no for an answer."

"All right then, it is settled. Be at the house at 4:00, Dear," Lady Roxton commanded with an air of aristocracy.

Moving back toward Veronica who still stood close to the ramp, Roxton slid his hand onto the small of Marguerite's back in a reassuring gesture that everything would be fine. "When will your car be here?" he asked rather solemnly. The fact that they would soon part for the first night in years finally seemed to register.

"Momentarily," she replied, again scanning the faces before her.

"Where are you staying? How can I reach you?"

"Why Lord Roxton, you will survive a night without me," brushing the back of her hand across his cheekbone. Both knew the customs of society prevented anything other than separate residences, but that did not mean that the time apart would be easy.

He leaned in closely whispering his next response, "I will miss you." She smiled, and her eyes told him that she felt the same. From the mass of reporters a young lady stood unnoticed and snapped several photographs just as the hunter's hand touched her, and he whispered unheard words ever so briefly. With her mission complete, the young woman scurried off.

That night the heiress wrapped herself in the luxury of an old silk robe that Grace had brought amongst other necessary personal items. She had soaked in the tub for more than an hour- an occurrence that she had waited patiently for during her long stay on the plateau. Walking across the room, she glanced at a calendar on the modern, mahogany desk. Then she sat on the sleek chair positioned in the elegant sitting area that adjoined the two rooms she had rented for Veronica and herself. She began to think through the schedule she would keep over the next day. _The dressers from Harrods visit at 9:00 am. Veronica will need clothes, and I know that I must catch up on the new styles as well. Then, I must go to the bank and make sure my accounts are in order sometime in the early afternoon. Tea with Roxton's mother at 4:00- she seems like a nice enough woman. She did not seem repulsed by the idea of me, which is a good sign that Roxton has not told her much. Independent, head strong, selfish me, surrounded by the height of elegant society. What am I thinking?_ She thought of the past two years and remembered all of the difficulties they had overcome. _I wonder whether we can overcome this?_ Now they were home- the dream she had most desired for four years had finally come true. _So, why do I feel so uncomfortable?_

"Marguerite, I am going to bed," Veronica said, dispersing the thoughts raced through the heiress's mind. "Tomorrow, Ned wants to take me on a tour of the city. I told him to come at noon. Do you think our fitting will be done by that time?"

"Yes, I believe that will work out fine. Have a good night sleep. It's been a long day," Marguerite returned. 

Veronica noticed the distracted look on the woman's face and knew that something was amiss. "Is everything all right?" she questioned. Marguerite had not been herself since they arrived back in London. Veronica thought it might have to do with her separation from the handsome hunter, but then again it seemed like more than that. Ned and she had spoken many times discussing the various theories that the group had conjured as explanations of the heiress's past. Nothing, however, seemed to fit exactly. As she watched Marguerite deep in thought she could swear that the confidence so evident on the plateau had all but disappeared. In its place was caution and anxiety.

"Oh, yes- just tried" Marguerite stuttered, covering her distracted response by getting up to leave.

"I will see you tomorrow then," Veronica uttered watching the other woman exit with curious concern.

The next afternoon Marguerite stepped out of the car gently taking the hand of the driver. She noticed the tall, brick town home that stood before her. Complete elegance embraced the house with large, wreathed windows that faced the busy street. Several stairs led to the enormous oak door. The air held a crisp feeling that snow would most likely soon fill. She breathed in the December air, stepped gracefully up to the landing, and pressed the button.

Inside the chimes startled the Lord of the house and caused an anxious rush of butterflies to swarm in his stomach. He smiled to himself thinking of how foolish he was acting on account of a woman he was practically married to in every sense of the word. The love that he felt for this woman began two years prior. Actually if he was truthful, he knew the moment he saw her in Challenger's study. She looked lovely, and at first his desire to possess her lied only in her body and the challenge she presented. But as time wore on and the expedition became a family, he grew to know her as a strong, often misunderstood woman. She was magical and independent. She fulfilled him like no woman he had known in the past. Now as she waited for him below, he could barely contain his excitement. This meeting today would be the beginning of a new phase in his life- their life. He just hoped that everything went as planned. Fixing his tie and smoothing his hair one last time, he glanced in the mirror and then strode towards the main sitting room. 

Marguerite fidgeted nervously with her gloves as she paced the large room that she had been led to just minutes before. She hoped that Roxton felt just as anxious. Currently, she funed over the fact that he kept her waiting. Suddenly the creak of the door swinging open turned her about face, and she held her breath in anticipation of his entrance. To her surprise and discomfort though, Lady Roxton emerged extending her hands toward the heiress. 

"Welcome to our home, Dear," she stated, kissing Marguerite lightly on the cheek, "I took the liberty of ordering tea to be brought in at 4:30. I thought that would give me an opportunity to get to know you."

Marguerite smiled and quietly took the seat she was offered, "That sounds like a lovely idea, Lady Roxton." The knots in her stomach and throat forced her to focus on maintaining a normal vocal register, and even though she was somewhat successful, she knew that she sounded nervous.

"My son tells me that you attended Oxford. It is not often that I meet such a well-educated woman in my circles. What did you study there?" she inquired taking the seat on the settee across from Marguerite. The young woman looked lovely in the newest styles London could provide. She could see why her son had fallen so obviously in love. To spend the largest part of her life on her own, never knowing a true family, must have been horrible. If she had any choice in the matter, Marguerite would have a family with them now that her son had returned safely. From what Roxton had told her this woman exhibited enormous strength and courage in their lost world, and she played a great part of his return to London.

Roxton heard the murmur of voices as he neared the sitting room. He smiled at the polite conversation in which the two women engaged. Marguerite amazed him as he listened to her speak of the difficulties she experienced attending University as one of the only females on campus. She sounded so confident, although he knew that this meeting made her anxious. As he stepped into the room his gaze found the lovely figure seated so demurely across from his mother. They did not notice his entrance, so he took the time to take in every inch of her. Gloves in hand, she sat with her feet crossed at the ankles. Fashions had changed, but from looking at her you would never have known she had been out of London for more than four years. A smart gray cap with a very small brim hugged her head, and her hair appeared to be tucked neatly beneath. She wore a dark blue dress that showed off her ankles and was obviously much shorter than the styles he remembered. As she sat politely making small talk with his mother he realized just how much he had missed her- even in the one night that they had been apart. He knew that this separation had to be rectified quickly. He could not stand to be away from her much longer.

"Hm-hm," he interrupted, "I am sorry to intrude, Ladies. I hope that I am not disturbing your conversation too much," he stepped towards his mother and gently kissed her cheek. He then turned to face Marguerite and bent low to kiss her hand in a gallant gesture. 

"We are pleased that you felt obliged to grace us with your presence, Darling," Lady Roxton teased sarcastically. She then turned to Marguerite and explained, "No matter how old he gets I can't seem to teach him to tell time."

"Mother," John warned, their comfort and happiness at being together radiating throughout the room. He was home now, and Marguerite was unsure where she fit into this puzzle. She knew he cared for her, but she was not sure that she could adopt this civilized world of tea parties and social functions or if they would adopt her.

Roxton extended his hand, and Marguerite took it as he led her to a large dining room across the hall. As they crossed the room a brief look of dismay on Marguerite's face caught his attention. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Fine- fine," she replied hesitantly. She smiled warily squeezing his hand as he showed her to her seat. 

Tea was served, and the trio sat around the large dining table, speaking about their plans for the upcoming weeks. "Marguerite, what do you plan now that you are back in London," Lady Roxton inquired, sipping the hot liquid cautiously from a china cup decorated by miniature pink and cream roses.

"Oh, I have several accounts to settle," she responded lightly. Roxton shifted uneasily in his seat wondering what these accounts entailed. He realized that she had unfinished business to look after, but her past demons that she so often hinted at concerned him. Her acquaintances were often shady, dangerous people with no fear of settling the score if the plot did not coincide with their version of the story, "After that… I guess I'm not sure," she stated hesitantly, restoring his mind to the conversation.

"Well, I did have an idea," Elizabeth Roxton proclaimed, " It has been a long while since we have celebrated in this house. With the holidays approaching I can't think of a better time to hold a Christmas party, can you?"

"No… no, that does sound like a splendid way to bring in the new year," she confirmed, smiling quizzically at John across the table. _Had this been his doing?_

"You will help me then. I do not know all of the modern practices of throwing a party, and I know you will have wonderful ideas to contribute."

"Oh, I don't know if that is a good idea. I have never thrown a party of that magnitude. I'm afraid it could be rather dull."  
"Nonsense," Roxton chimed in, "I think it will be a perfect way for the two women in my life to get to know each other." Marguerite stared blankly at the hunter's boldness. She then turned to Lady Roxton, managing a small smile of embarrassment.

"I will call the printers in the morning. We will set the date for the last Saturday before Christmas," the older woman expressed with a girlish giggle that did not befit her elegant demeanor.

After tea the couple took a stroll across the street to a small park centered in the quaint neighborhood. Roxton took her gloved hand as they crossed the street, and then he conveniently forgot to let it go. "What do you think?" he quizzed as they took a seat on a park bench.

"You have a wonderful life here. Your mother obviously adores you, and you have everything you could possibly ask for at your disposal."

"Not everything," he teased brushing his thumb lightly over her cheek. She smiled, knowing the meaning behind his words, but she also knew that they were a long way from the ideal couple. Her face changed, and a grimace of worry broke their lighthearted conversation. "There is that look again. What's bothering you?" he asked with frustration at her secretiveness.

"Nothing. I was just thinking how wonderful your mother is and how fortunate I am to know you." 

"But…"

She hesitated and made eye contact briefly before turning her gaze at the building to the right, "I don't think I fit into your world."

Anger flashed across his face, but he managed to get it in check before replying in a dumbfounded manner, "What do you mean?"

"I have a wicked past, no family at all, and I am far too independent and selfish to be good for anything that revolves around other people. You know that," she explained nervously avoiding eye contact, "I could never play the demure housewife."

"Marguerite, you are scared by what you don't know. Two years ago when we first got involved, it took me months to get you to express any feeling other than anger. Your fear of being hurt was evident, but after time you learned to trust me and your own instincts. It will be no different here, and I am willing to wait. Not to mention that I would never expect you to play the demure housewife." He leaned in gently and brushed her nose with his lips in a sweet kiss. As he pulled away he smiled and her concern seemed to slowly disappear. After a moment his tone changed from confidence to concern as he remembered the earlier conversation, "What accounts must you settle?"

Startled by his question, Marguerite quickly thought of how to cover the past secrets that loomed in her mind, "Just making sure that my finances are in order and that anyone I may owe gets what they deserve." Trying to change the subject, she asked, "Was this party your idea, and do you think your mother really wants my help?"

Recognizing her aim, he scolded, "Marguerite, I am worried about you contacting past relations. I don't trust the people that you used to hang around with to allow you to move on with your life."

"I can handle these people, John- I promise."

"At least let me accompany you to meet them," he pleaded, genuine concern deeply creasing his brow.

"I don't think that is wise," she responded, caressing his chin, "I will be careful." She smiled reassuringly, and he had no choice but to back off for the moment. He would just have to keep her very busy so that she had no time to deal with any time other than the present.

The events of the next two weeks left them all exhausted. Marguerite had been constantly tending to past business in the short times that she managed to avoid Roxton's constant schedule. She knew what he was doing and she appreciated his concern, but she could not move on with a new life until the past was behind her. She had successfully managed to settle all of her "accounts" but one. That one caused more trouble than she was willing to take on at the moment, so she had decided to wait and see if he contacted her. For the most part life ran smoothly until the morning of the press conference on December18th.

"Marguerite," Veronica called from the common room, "Are you ready yet? The car will be here in just a moment."

The heiress walked into the common room dressed in her bathrobe and looking pale. "I am not going. You will have to explain that I am ill and can't possibly make it."

"When did this start? You were fine at dinner last night." The entire group attended a dinner held in their honor by a wealthy friend of Malone's from America. In the past two weeks since their return, life spun with a whirlwind of activity that left them all without a moment's privacy. She really couldn't blame Marguerite for needing a day off, but they had all agreed to attend the press conference to help Malone by directing attention away from the important aspects off the expedition on which his upcoming novel would focus. Now that the heiress aimed to back out, Veronica refused to give her an easy time of it. "In fact, you seemed quite well, dancing with Roxton most of the evening."

"I am not well now, and that is all that counts," she retorted angrily. The wonderful times of the previous night expired as the events of the morning forced her mind to flip through her options. An envelope containing several photographs of John and her arrived early this morning. They were taken over the past two weeks at various events that they had both attended. In the package she also found a note reading, "So glad that you returned, Darling. Meet me at four this afternoon at our spot. If you fail to arrive, I will find you. By the way, lovely pictures of you and Lord Roxton. " She recognized who sent the note, but she did not know what to do about it at this point. Once Veronica left the hotel she would be able to think clearly.

"Marguerite, we promised Ned we would all be there," the young blond responded sweetly, changing her tone. The heiress hesitated for a moment rethinking her decision. "Not to mention, you will see Roxton. He will be disappointed if he does not see you today." With this last comment Marguerite became solemn, tears filling her eyes.

"I'm really not feeling like myself. Tell Ned I will sit with him, and he can review anything that he does not want me to talk about with the press." She left the room, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

Forty minutes later Veronica entered a room in the London Zoological Society. The buzzing voices of the press gathering in the nearby auditorium filled the marble hallways. When the door closed behind her, the noise was hushed into a muffled clamoring. The three men turned their heads at the sound of her entrance, and she braced herself for their response to Marguerite's refusal to join them. Why she thought this selfish woman would suddenly change upon returning home frustrated her. She knew better than to believe Marguerite would ever truly drop her selfish side.

"Where is Marguerite?" Challenger asked.

"She isn't coming."

"What do you mean?" Ned interrogated as he jumped from the desk at which jotted last minute notes. 

"She wasn't feeling well. She promised to sit with you at another time to make sure she does not damage your book."

"She was fine last night," Roxton claimed, worry showing on his face. "What's wrong? Does she need a doctor?"

"No, she just said that she could not come today and that she wasn't feeling like herself."

"Veronica, did anything happen between last night and this morning?" Roxton pushed the issue. He was fearful that an old acquaintance threatened to return.

"I'm not sure," the young woman contemplated, thinking through the activities at the hotel room. "We ate breakfast and everything was fine. Then she received her mail and returned to her room to get ready."

Roxton grabbed his overcoat and headed for the door. "I'm sorry Ned, but I need to check on her. I have a bad feeling that there is more to this than we think."

Within half an hour, Roxton arrived at Marguerite's hotel room banging on the door. It opened to reveal a mass of clothing and suitcases strewn throughout the room. Marguerite's tear stained face stared at him with regret as she stepped aside for his entrance. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm leaving, John. Please don't ask me where or why, I just have to go. Trust me just this once." Her whole body had taken on a new appearance. She looked frail and scared. Her hair hung loosely, giving her a wild, animal-like quality that threw him as he watched her frantically pack a large brown truck that stood open to his right.

" You know I can't do that. I can't let you go…I love you," desperation rang in every note he voiced, and with this last statement she stopped. 

Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him. Sincerity radiated from her every word, "I must leave. It's not safe here for me."

"I will protect you. Let me help you, Love," he stepped toward her and placed a gentle hand on her arm, slowly sliding it down to take her hand and draw her body close to his.

She quietly whispered into his ear as his arms engulfed her, "That places everyone in danger." She would have loved to remain surrounded by the warmth of his body for an eternity, but she knew that was impossible. After calming down for a moment and taking one deep breath, she pulled back away from his grip. "It's better this way. I will be okay. After sometime I will get in touch with you-"

"Don't lie to me," anger now took over the hunter, and he interrupted. "I know that I will never see you again if you walk out that door tonight. If you choose to throw away this relationship, then you might as well admit that it's over. You are running, Marguerite. You have been doing this all your life." She continued to pack avoiding his eyes at all costs. He paced the room anxiously searching for some way to talk her out of this foolish act. Then he noticed a photograph of the two of them smiling and sitting closely together. The picture appeared to be taken just two days before at a local charity function that they had attended for his mother. He picked it up, and to his surprise a second photo taken on the day of their arrival rested in its place. Beneath it several more pictures slid to the floor into a collage of the past two weeks. "Where did you get these?" The look of complete agony on her face completed the puzzle of confusion that he had been experiencing since his arrival. "Who sent these to you? Why are they following us?"

The tears welling in her eyes burst through her strong façade as she sat on the edge of the bed. He rushed to her side, kneeling before her and trying to make eye contact. 

"I can't tell you," she managed in a hushed voice.

"Damn it, woman," he spat, standing and turning away from her, "Will I never gain your trust?" 

Shocked by his passion she retorted strongly, "John, this is dangerous to everyone I care about. If I tell you, I know I could stand to loose you."

"I understand your fears," he responded slowly, "but I will not leave you alone until I get the story. Once several years ago, I told you that I would never let you go." He smiled slightly and paused, remembering their nearly fatal run in with Asquith. He gazed into her silver eyes and tried to communicate his own longing for her. Then pulling a chair from the side of the room he sat directly in front of her and stated the next words carefully to emphasize their importance. "That has not changed just because we are no longer on the plateau."

She looked back at his face that she now felt as familiar with as her own. "I will tell you about his man, but I want you to know that I love only you. I have never felt for any man the way that I feel when I am with you." At this disclaimer Roxton sat straighter in his chair and frowned wearily. She hesitated just long enough to give her the courage she needed. Then she bowed her head and began, "The man who is following me is German. He and I met eight years ago when I was assigned to spy on several high-ranking German officials during the war. His name is Albert Hess. He is a powerful businessman who handles several illegal operations for the German government." She raised her eyes to meet his briefly as if checking to see that he heard her, and then she continued, "When I first arrived in Germany I had a difficult time making the important connections that needed to be made. After several months without any leads the British government instructed me to try seducing one of the key players in Albert's crime ring. I decided that he was the easiest target." With this admission, Roxton tensed but remained focused on the story, knowing full well that this key to Marguerite's past he had long been in the waiting.

"Over the next month I arrived everywhere Albert was supposed to be. After several introductions, we became involved, yet I still had not gained access to the information that I needed to return to England. He was completely infatuated with me and soon proposed marriage." She looked directly at him as she spoke the next words quietly, " I agreed." 

John sat back in his chair and inhaled slowly trying to register the information he had just learned. He watched her as she sat staring blankly at the ground avoiding him, and he noticed the defeated sagging of her shoulders and head. Trying to remain strong he asked, "Once the war was over what happened?"

"I was stuck in Germany for a period, caught between his world of crime and the safety of Britain. When he was on a trip to Switzerland late in 1918, I managed to return home. I thought I was safe- that he couldn't find me, but soon I was forced to leave London again when his henchmen tried to attack me. I took Grace as an assistant and she accompanied me to Paris, the south of France, Morocco, and then Egypt. At times I sent her to London to check on his whereabouts. Finally the coast seemed clear, so I returned to London in the early part of 1920. Then one night an employee of his approached me outside of the London Zoological Society. I managed to escape the attack and took cover inside. I believe you know the rest," she uttered, clearly finished with the story.

Leaning forward he placed his hands on either side of his forehead and asked, "So I take it a divorce was never granted?"

"No- not exactly. But John, had I known what lie ahead, I would have never agreed to his proposal." A tear traced a path down her cheek as she looked at him and pleaded, "You have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know," he stated formally, not sure of his feelings other than taking care of the immediate danger, "but currently, we have to worry about making sure you, Veronica, and Grace are all safe. Was there anything accompanying the pictures?"

Taking on his business tone, she replied, "Yes," and pulled out the wrinkled page from her robe.

After glancing at the note, he quickly rose and began packing her belongings in a hurried manner. "You will all stay with me." 

"What about the four o'clock meeting?"

"You are not going," he stated strongly. "You will be fine at the town home. I will be there."

Hours later as midnight approached Roxton exited the stairway preparing to retire for the night. Upon entering the hallway that connected his room to Marguerite's guest room, he noticed a light seeping from underneath her doorway. Sighing deeply and running a hand roughly through his hair he recalled the information that permeated his every thought for the past twelve hours. _How can I deal with the fact that she is married? We will never be accepted by society, and I most definitely have duties to fulfill for my family. Yet, with all of my misgivings I know that I love her as much as I have at any point in our history._ Looking at the door he reached for the knob and slowly turned it. 

Inside she sat curled up on the window-seat staring blankly at the rain covered streets below. He watched her for a moment and felt a jab of pain knowing that this arrogant man that now thought he had her in the palm of his hand had destroyed the possibility of a life together. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and her head rested on her hand. "What are you still doing up?" he questioned with concern.

She turned to him and tried to smile but instead weakly placed her hands over her eyes and stood. "Oh, just trying to bloat out the day's activities. I am sorry for putting you to all this trouble, John." Her voice sounded weak and barely audible in the large room. She crossed to a chair next to the bed and sat.

"Marguerite, you know I would do anything to help you," he replied as he fought the urge to take her in his arms.

"I know. You are a good man," she paused and looked at him, wrinkling her brow in concentration, "I should have told you about all this when we first met. It would have made resisting a relationship with you much easier. I tried for so long not to let my guard down. Then after all those years away, I began to think that he would leave me alone." She shook her head in frustration at this last statement. "I never meant to get you involved in my past."

He knelt beside her chair, amazed that she honestly felt that the past two years had been a mistake. He ran his thumb lightly across her cheek and then lifted her head so that their eyes met. "No matter what happens I will never regret our time together. I love you and nothing this man does will change that. Do you understand?" he asked gently. Tears filled her eyes in response, and before she could voice her answer his mouth covered hers in a light kiss. She placed her hands on either side of his cheeks and allowed the emotions of the day to wash over her. 

The kiss became feverish and he stood, sweeping her off of the chair in a heated embrace. She felt light in his arms as he carried her to the bed. Her heart raced against his chest, and his own pulse raced to keep up. He set her gently on the bed and pulled away briefly to look at her. She looked beautiful in the light of the fire that glowed across the room. Her eyes reflected a look of desire that he had missed since their return home. During their time in London the intimacy the plateau had afforded them away from society's rules disappeared. He pulled at the corner of her robe, and it easily fell revealing her pale, white shoulder. Her sweet scent of powder and perfume saturated his lungs. His heart leapt and he returned his gaze to meet hers. "We will make it through this," he whispered with sincerity. She drew him to her and the weight of his body leaned into her. The passion of the past weeks flowed over both of them until they lay spent, wrapped in each other's arms. Then exhaustion embraced them, and they escaped reality for a few brief hours of sleep.

The night of the party arrived several days later. It had kept the house in a constant bustle since Roxton had moved the three women into the guest rooms. He listened to the string quartet warm-up as he strode down the back stairwell and into the large dining room. The table was set for about forty people, and he anticipated the semi-intimate gathering with enthusiasm. He noticed the glorious tree that held all of his favorite childhood ornaments glimmering in the corner. A massive fire glowed in the fireplace and crackled as the scent of burning wood filled the room. He heard Marguerite's voice from the hall as she cleared several last minute menu decisions with the chef. "Whatever you suggest is fine, Peter. I know it will all go smoothly," she answered the nervous cook in a caring, reassuring voice. Her magnificent job in helping his mother prepare for this party showed in every detail. From the elegantly set table to the prisms of light that danced from the chandelier, the house never appeared more pristine. After people began responding to the invitations, she actually became rather obsessed with the entire production. He believed it to be her way of avoiding the past. Nonetheless, his mother fell in love with her during this process, and that pleased him most of all. He knew this delighted Marguerite too, but she would not openly admitted it.

He heard her approach from the hallway and turned to catch sight of her just as she entered the room. Dressed in a deep red, silk sheath that hung loosely on her slim figure, she appeared, and his breath caught in his throat at the radiant glow that seemed to surround her. Embroidered fabric draped in elaborate beads clung to her and accented a pattern of flowers and vines that subtly became denser as the dress reached the floor in a sweeping train. She did not look his way immediately as she caught sight of several poinsettias that that needed arranged on the floor by the window. When she turned he noticed the deep V in the back of her dress and her hair coifed into a low bun emphasizing her bare white skin.

"You look amazing," he whispered as he gently helped her to stand and touched the bare flesh of her back in desperate need to have contact with her.

"You aren't so bad yourself," she flirted, leaning into him and kissing his lips ever so briefly. The new tuxedo and his haircut made him look even more irresistible, if that was possible.

"When will everyone be arriving?" he asked trying to change the mood and still the racing heart in his chest.

"Oh, I would say sometime in the next fifteen minutes," she replied with a sigh and returned to the task of making sure that everything was perfect. "I hope tonight is special for your mother," she asserted when she returned her attention to him.

"It will be wonderful. I know she appreciated all of your hard work," he answered honestly. 

"I actually enjoyed it. Can you believe that? Me- a domesticated woman." She giggled at the thought, and he smiled broadly taking in every moment of this night.

Within an hour everyone arrived and convened in the sitting room for cocktails. "John, you mean to tell me that Marguerite helped your mother?" Ned Malone questioned, shaking his head. 

"I would not have believed it myself had I not seen her over the last week, "Veronica responded. During their time at Roxton's home Marguerite had kept them all busy making preparations for the party. Veronica knew that she was covering for some fear that she was experiencing, but she took complete control of the festivities amazing them all with her ability to plan such a large affair. The young woman watched Roxton scan the room obviously looking for the brunette. He was completely infatuated, but this was nothing new for the group. She smiled and looked towards Ned, hoping a similar relationship lie ahead for them as well. Continuing the conversation, she explained, "She was truly amazing."

"She just needed to get adjusted to life in England with a family," Roxton confidently stated, as he watched the heiress leave the bustling room with a server. 

"I know that we only have forty chairs set, but you said forty one people arrived. We will just have to set room for one more. I am sorry. Maybe I miscounted," she calmly explained to the anxious waitress. The woman sighed and tried a brief smile but then hurried from the room in an effort to prepare the table.

__

I can't think of how I managed to mix up the numbers. I have been over them so many times. Suddenly a warm hand touched her bare back and she jumped, startled by this unannounced approach. "Roxton, you have to stop sneaking up on me," she scolded as she turned around. To her terror, though, the face of her husband was poised before her.

"Marguerite has been gone a long time, don't you think Mother?" Roxton questioned, coming to stand next to her chair and placing a hand on the back of it. Concern creased his brow ever so slightly.

"John, I think she just got caught up with the wait staff. I saw her leave twenty minutes ago. I am sure she is fine. She seems to be a perfectionist, you know."

"I guess you are right," he replied, again gazing over the colorful mirage that drifted before his eyes.

"Marguerite, don't look so stunned. I promised that I would find you, and what better night than during the middle of a party surrounded by all of your friends? Maybe now you can introduce me properly," he cooed in a sarcastic tone. He appeared much older than she remembered. Gray hair now showed at his temples, and his dark menacing eyes looked rather sunken. He had always been an obese man by all proportions, but he now looked even larger in the abandoned hallway.

"I don't think so, Albert. You see I prefer my past acquaintances to remain in the past," she retorted trying not to let fear show on her face.

"I will just have to introduce myself without you then," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. He dragged her towards the doorway and pushed her to the outside verandah. "You will not be of need tonight, my dear. I have other plans for you and Lord Roxton." She violently wrestled to break free from his grasp that now tightened on her wrist, and he gripped her to him placing a knife at her throat. The cold steel sliced her throat making her gasp. With a harshly he voiced, "Scream and you will be killed."

"Where is Marguerite, Roxton?" Ned Malone asked, his arm around Veronica in a comfortable manner. "I didn't think you two could be separated."

"Oh, I guess the party preparations are the priority, Neddy Boy," he replied trying to keep a light air. He was starting to worry. Maybe something happened. A question broke his trance. "Huh?"

"I asked if you would mind me borrowing Veronica for a little while? We are going to return to my home in America," Ned responded. A smile grew from ear to ear on the young reporter as he glanced toward his blond companion. "I thought we would leave first thing tomorrow."

"That sounds marvelous, Ned." Roxton expressed as he patted the young reporter on the shoulder. "I hope you enjoy the trip, Veronica. I know you won't miss the claustrophobic quarters that you've shared here in London."

"Nothing will ever be small compared to the five of us in that tree house," she smiled thinking about the plateau. They had decided to travel back to the plateau via America, and she looked forward to returning to her life in the jungle more than she could say. 

"What do you want, Hess?" Marguerite coughed hoarsely, as he pushed her resistant body toward the high shrubbery that lined the back of the garden.

"You," he growled in an animal-like quality that sent shivers down her back. His grasp on her tightened, and she could feel his hand grope her hips as he pushed her forward. "I have only ever wanted you," his sexual undertone scared her, but she knew not to show any fear because that is what he thrived upon.

"That will never happen. I don't care about you- I never did," she spat. He stopped short and forced her roughly to the ground ripping her dress and bruising her now exposed knee. She turned back to look at him and black angry eyes burned into her as his massive form towered over her body.

"Yes, that is right. You only ever cared about yourself," he retorted as he took a moment to look her up and down. His stare penetrated her strong façade, and she glanced away to prevent him from noticing her alarm. He knelt beside her and bound her feet together with a silk scarf that he pulled from his pocket. Fury escaped him in words. "Now you pretend to love that fool Roxton. Does he know about us?" he asked before wrenching her arms behind her back and tying them with a second scarf.

"Yes, in fact he does," she pronounced. She was starting to gain strength from her hatred of this man who had plagued her life for too long. "But that is the difference between you two. I do love him, and I am willing to die if it will be a warning." With this last statement she screamed loudly shocking the man just long enough to kick out his legs. 

The guests were being ushered to the main dining room, and the quartet began a rendition of "Adeate Fideles", which echoed through the loud voices of the crowd in the marble hallway. Roxton searched the crowd to see if she stood at the front of this mass directing traffic. The aroma of roast pheasant, ham, and turkey filled the air. The crowd murmured in festive voices each discussing his or her plans for the coming holidays. As he approached the front of the group, he knew she would probably meet him appearing completely composed, but inside nervous anxiety grew that he just could not shake.

She crawled scraping her hip against the ground in an effort to escape from his body lying on the floor beside her. Her eyes stressed in an effort to make out the house before her, but her position of the floor prevented a clear view. If she could get closer her voice would be of use, but out here in the dark, isolated from everyone, she could not scream above the musicians and people. She only managed to move a few feet of space before he again loomed above her. "Going somewhere?" he breathed, "I want you with me." She cried out as his fist struck her forcefully across the face, knocking her unconscious. No one had heard her screams. 

"Is Marguerite back?" Lady Roxton asked as she returned from the hallway after a discussion with the chef. She too was beginning to worry. Her son had told her Marguerite was in danger, but he had not explained the circumstances in any detail. Over the past few days the heiress had been delightful- never showing any sign of fear. Now as anxiety took its place on her son's face, she felt that matters were much graver than she had previously anticipated.

"She's not there?" John asked his voice shifting into a mix of anger and fear. "She has been gone since our conversation fifteen minutes ago," he replied as he stood to leave the room. His composure began to fail.

"I don't know, Dear," her voice struck a cord of panic. He had been so cautious about being with them at all times. He never left the house unless Marguerite went with him. Now, to have something happen in their house, a supposed haven from all dangers. "Maybe she returned upstairs."

"I'm going to check," he replied, giving her a small smile. He did not want to alarm her any more than necessary. He moved across the room and slipped unseen to the garden just behind the house. He stood on the verandah and stared into the blackness before him, his hunting instincts on their highest alert. The pulse of the party through the doors prevented him from tuning in the noises outside. His eyes narrowed, his vision focusing on the shrubs at the back of the garden.

Shaking her head slightly to erase the grogginess, she struggled to sit up but extreme dizziness prevented any movement. She sensed him moving around her, yet understanding his motions was impossible. She slowly opened her eyes and realized that she now lay behind the large shrubbery that bordered the back of the garden. She peered to her left and saw that Hess sitting poised next to the bush, staring through the greenery. In his hands rested a rifle.

Roxton heard a rustling movement coming from the bushes in the back of the garden. As he slowly approached the large fountain in the center, a loud round of applause startled him from his focus. They must have served the cherry jubilee. How odd it was that everything seemed so festive inside and he stood in his own backyard. Until recently anxiety of this level had all but vanished. His heart pounded against his chest, and he held his breath. Stepping cautiously on the stone walkway he again stared at his target in front of him.

She understood instantly his plan of attack as she watched from the ground. She knew that Roxton would come looking eventually, and Hess would be waiting. She just prayed for the time she needed. She began to slowly inch her way toward him. Now the bruise on her hip felt raw against the ground and her arms seemed to be loosing circulation. With her hands and feet still tied, her range of movement was minimal. Her head spun from the blow that he had given her earlier. Warped sound echoed from the house. _What was it? Wait._ _Applause. Focus on him. Don't stop to think. _Seated and waiting for John to get close enough for his shot, he looked the part of the homicidal maniac that she remembered from the war. He had been merciless to the men that were his enemies back then. Now as she watched him, his predatory gaze searched and stopping him was the only option.

Roxton paused and turned to face the shrubs straight ahead. This seemed so surreal standing in England and prepared to fight some unseen enemy. He instinctively reached into the back of his belt and felt the gun that he had resumed wearing just several days before.

"Now, Lord Roxton, I will protect what is mine," Hess stated under his breath. Marguerite watched his black eyes stare straight ahead in a crazed look. Waiting for his prey to be in the exact spot, his focus intensified. In a shaky, manic voice he explained to no one in particular, "You will not have Marguerite. She has been mine for many years and will be mine for as long as I still want her." 

She inched closer and now she lay only a foot behind him. She worked vigorously at the scarf that bound her hands, but to no avail. He uttered several more lines as she crawled once again, cautiously stifling any noise. Then just as she reached him he cocked the trigger.

Roxton heard the click of a trigger and glanced in the direction of the noise. He eyes saw nothing and fear raced through his body. _Marguerite, please help me. Tell me where you are._

"That is right," Hess muttered, "look right here." He took a deep breath and pulled the trigger. His body fell with a force from behind, and the gun clattered to the ground. Not sure if his target had fallen, he searched through the branches of the shrubs looking for a body. Brown undergrowth and trunks met his gaze preventing his eyes from seeing anything. A rustling above him caught his attention. He reached for the rifle.

Marguerite lay back exhausted from her effort to stop Hess. She hoarsely screamed Roxton's name hoping that she had been on time. Tears streamed down her face as she searched through blurred vision to see him through the growth. Not sure whether Albert's shot had been on target, she feared the worst. 

The hunter searched for the location of the shot. Panic surged through him as his mind thought of her lying lifeless on the hard ground. The crowd from the party hushed with the gun fire, and a few concerned guests emerged from the house, Challenger, Malone, and Veronica among them. Suddenly Marguerite's voice rang out from somewhere beyond the greens, and he ran pushing his way through the dense shrubs. She lay on the floor covered in dirt and bruises, but thankfully she was alive. He knelt for a moment beside her and brushed a piece of hair from her face. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. Suddenly a sound behind him caught his attention. Instinctively he turned toward the man sprawled across the grass to his right. His pulled the pistol from the back of his pants and aimed. "Stop where you are, Hess."

"Lord Roxton," he responded in a cold, confident voice, "you see, my _wife_ and I have a bit to discuss. If you would be so kind, I will make sure we that we do not interrupt your gathering any longer." He stood slowly picking up the gun as a makeshift cane. His obese form stood a mere five feet away and he looked Roxton in the eye bravely daring him to stand in his way.

John noticed Marguerite's movement to his right and shot her a sideways glance indicating that the situation remained in his under control. "Hess, I know the circumstances of your marriage, and I can assure you that she does not want it to continue," he stated never moving. "Since we both care so much about her, I am sure that you only want the best for her."

"She's a whore. No one could love her and truly want her for anything other than her body," he cynically returned.He eyed Marguerite with an animalistic gaze. "I have had her many times. She is not worth the trouble."

Roxton angrily cocked the trigger of his pistol and voiced, "That's where you are wrong." He hesitated for a moment and looked at Marguerite who feigned a small smiled in return. As she sat up, he noticed a large, angry welt on her face. Tears silently traced a path down her cheek, and he inhaled deeply trying to maintain his fury. The pain Hess had caused her over the years was about to be repaid. "You are an obstacle which I truly intend to overcome, but first apologize to Miss Krux."

"I'll do nothing of the sort," he refuted. He stood with one hand on his hip looking like an overgrown bully. His chest protruded from his round body.

"You will if you plan on living," Roxton moved toward Hess in two long strides. He grabbed his shoulder and pulled him toward the Marguerite. "Say it." 

Hess stood menacingly over the brunette and hesitated for a moment. Marguerite shuddered at his closeness and looked at his round face. He sighed greatly blowing stale, warm breath against her face as he bent over and began, "Marguerite, I must say I am sorry," he became quiet for a moment. His eyes burned with anger as he studied her face. She thought for a moment that she could see his pulse beating in the vein on his neck. He bent his knees and whispered close to her ear, and his hand slipped down next to his leg as he continued, "But, I hope you lead a miserable life." With these last words, he turned and aimed a small handgun at Roxton. Marguerite screamed as a shot rang through the air. Hess fell limp onto the ground next to her. The gun dropped just to his right. Her eyes glanced in shock toward the hunter.

He raced to her side and gently began to untie the scarves that bound her wrists and ankles. "It will be all right, I promise," he stated. His eyes found hers as he lifted her weak form into his arms and carried her back to the house.

Several days later the pair sat quietly by the fire in the upstairs study, each drinking a glass of sherry. "It was a perfect day. Thank you for making my first Christmas back in London memorable," she smiled, and the light glow illuminated her silver eyes. They spent the better part of the afternoon with his mother and had only recently returned to this room to share a moment's privacy. After the excitement at the party, Lady Roxton insisted that they have a quiet holiday in the house. This suited everyone well especially Marguerite who still wore a large bruise on her cheek. John moved to recline on the floor just in front of the fireplace and indicated his wish that she join him through a subtle smirk and waving gesture. Marguerite sighed and stood from her chair. She smiled at him and took his hand, gracefully siting to his right with her knees folded behind her. The phonograph hummed a piano version of "Silent Night". _How was it that he seemed so peaceful? _She had disclosed all of her horrid past to this man, and yet he did not leave her. In fact, he had single-handedly managed to put her out of danger once again by killing her worst demon. Now as she watched him she wondered what was next.

"Now that you have thrown your first successful party, my dear, do you still think you are not fit for this lifestyle?" he asked, remembering their conversation just several weeks before. A smirk occupied his face and indicated his good mood.

"You call that a success?" she huffed. "It is not often that the hostess gets attacked by a lunatic husband and then saved by her current fling." At this last statement he hesitated, sitting back with a hurt look registering on his face. Unaware of his change she continued her tirade, "I am sure that _no one_ will attend a party of mine in the future." 

"A fling, huh?" he interrupted with agitation ringing in his voice. He pulled a little box from his jacket and exclaimed, "I guess I won't need this then." In an exaggerated motion he rolled to his knees in preparation to stand. 

Her hand found his arm hurriedly, and her eyes glanced toward the box, "What is it?" Instantly intrigued by the jewelry box in his hand she pleaded anxiously, "John?"

"Well, it …it's my present to you," he stuttered knowing now that he had her attention by the flare in her eye. "But, if I am only a current fling, I would guess that it is time for you to move on. I wouldn't want you to feel obligated to me."

"John," her eyes softened, and she moved closer to him, "you have always had my heart. Fling was just a matter of speech," she shrugged, "I was only trying to make light of that disastrous party." She rose to her knees to sit directly before him. She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and whispered flirtatiously, "Show me my present."

"Only on one condition," he responded with quiet confidence. He placed the box in front of her as if to remind her what they were bargaining for. 

"What condition?" she questioned kissing the other cheek and placing her hand against his chest. Her gaze drifted from his face to the box but returned to meet his eyes square.

He leaned in so that their lips were an inch apart. The air smelled of the sherry and his pulse raced as he took a deep breath drinking in the scene before him. "Be my wife?" he asked.

She did not answer immediately. Her head fell to her chest and her mind reeled through a multitude of logical reasons that she should not marry this man. She was too inadequate to be his wife. Yet, her protests died when he lifted her face to meet his. A tear found its way down her cheek, and a smile began to broaden across her face. Then in a whisper barely audible she replied, "Yes."

"Excuse me, what did you say? I couldn't hear you," he teased, a grin illuminating his face.

"Yes," she pronounced with confidence, "I will marry you." He slowly opened the box that he held in his palm and revealed a large diamond set in an intricately engraved platinum band. She gasped at the sight of the stone before her, and as he slipped it on her finger she sat back onto the rug and admired the way the light radiated through it. He moved to lean on an ottoman that sat behind her and laughed as she inspected to diamond carefully. Without interrupting her investigation he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her back to lean against him. She gave in easily and turned her gaze to meet his. "It's perfect," she uttered.

"I'm glad you approve. There is one more thing then that you must know."

"What now?" she remarked in mock frustration.

He held back a moment and then let out a chuckle as he explained, "Mother expects you to begin planning our wedding."


End file.
